


Passing In The Woods

by Eryn_Ivers



Category: Original Work
Genre: Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Happy Ending, M/M, Science Fiction
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-02-27
Updated: 2016-02-27
Packaged: 2018-05-23 12:20:12
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,383
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6116274
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Eryn_Ivers/pseuds/Eryn_Ivers
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In a rural post-apocalyptic world two wanderers, a sociable bard and a shy hunter, come across each other in a forest.  They share more than just the warmth of a small fire. Slash</p>
            </blockquote>





	Passing In The Woods

**Author's Note:**

> A/N: Hello lovelies! Here’s another short story for you (and much shorter than my last one). It’s much more sweet and innocent than my usual fare but I hope you enjoy it nonetheless.

Passing in the Woods 

By Eryn Ivers

 

The trees grew as the sun set, taller and higher and darker until the only light shown down from the strip of dark blue sky high above their branches.  It became more and more difficult for Sonven to pick his way through the pot holed and crumbling highway, despite his vast experience.  He knew he should have stopped to make camp long ago, but he was sick of camping by himself.  As a bard he wasn’t used to not finding a friendly fire to spend the night beside.  But this was the land north of the old Freeway 101; things were different up here.  Just as Sonven prepared to concede defeat, he perked up at the sight of a tell-tale flicker between the trees.  The night had grown chillier than he’d expected, and even though the tall trees around him did much to insulate the air and keep out the wind, his spirits soared at the sight of a pre-made flame.

He pulled his heavy jacket, worn and patched, tighter around himself and made for the warm glow. 

“Who’s out there?” A man’s voice suddenly called, deep and vaguely threatening.  Sonven froze and, though he couldn’t see the speaker, raised his hands.  Bards were always welcomed safely at fires in lands south of the 101.  They harkened back to ancient times and made people feel not so bad about their rough living; they might not have any of the luxury or technology from before the End but at least their lives were not devoid of joy and comfort.  But this was the North; things were different up here; perhaps people liked reminding themselves of how tough they had it.

“A humble bard,” Sonven called back.  “Hoping to share your fire.”

The voice fell silent for a moment, hesitating.  Then, “Approach slowly.”

Sonven did, careful to let the twigs snap under the worn soles of his boots so as to let the man track his progress.  He entered into a small clearing to the sight of a lean figure holding a hunting crossbow with a bolt knocked and pointed in Sonven’s direction.  The fire, though on the smaller side, blazed nicely and beside it lay a backpack and a camo sleeping bag. 

Sonven nodded towards the man graciously. 

“I am Sonven, the bard,” he said calmly.  The man appeared older than the usual young hunter, about Sonven’s own age, and he hoped maturity would stay his bolt for at least long enough to consider Sonven’s company.

The man swept his eyes, a deep forest green like the trees around them, up and down him.  He took in the traveling clothes, the backpack with the hand-hewn flutes sticking out, and the six-string strapped to his back.  His gaze remained skeptical though, his eyes narrowed.

“We don’t get bards this far north,” he said, as though Sonven were some beast that had strayed out of its usual territory.

“No, not often, I imagine,” Sonven replied with a chuckle.  “It is a cold and rough terrain for those of us who walk where ever we go, and much less welcoming—” he nodded pointedly at the bolt still trained at his chest “—But I have seen most of the southern wasteland, and found nothing to hold me.  I wanted to discover things I have not yet seen.”

The main lowered his crossbow so the point looked to the ground at his own feet, a flicker of sheepishness passing through his eyes.  With a smile, Sonven continued, “I can strum you a tune if you like, to prove my identity.”  The man picked up on the teasing in his voice and a slight flush crawled up the base of his neck.

“No need, I think,” he said.  He snapped the bolt back into its slot on the crossbow and set it aside as he resumed his seat.  “Please, sit.”  A hesitation.  “Company might be nice.”

Sonven smiled again, hoping his open expressions would set the man at ease, and sat across the fire from him.  He set his precious six-string, an old one from before the End, in its water proof case beside him, away from the fire.

“I agree, thank you,” Sonven said.  “And to whom do I owe the pleasure?”

“Bjorn,” the man replied.  “I hunt in these parts.”  Sonven surveyed the meager campsite.

“Not very well, it would seem,” he said lightly.  The man caught his teasing tone again and Sonven watched the color crawl up the skin of his neck with amusement.

“I haven’t been out here long.”  Bjorn gave Sonven a self-conscious looking smile.  “But I might be out even longer before I find anything.  Game’s been scarce recently.”

“Really?  What would cause that?”

Bjorn shrugged.

“Lots of things,” he replied.  “It’s happened before.  The game will come back.”  He turned his eyes on Sonven, meeting the bard’s gaze levelly.  “And you?  What brings a bard to these parts?”

“As I said, I wanted to see things I haven’t seen yet.  Bards are wanderers by nature—” He tilted his head thoughtfully.  “—And trade.”  Sonven moved closer to the fire, warming his open palms on it, though he continued to watch the hunter with a half smile.  The man had yet to relax.  “I wanted to wander.”

“It’s always seemed to me that wanderers are searching for something,” the man said.  Sonven raised an eyebrow at his tone.

“’Wanderers’” he repeated.  “Are you not a wanderer yourself?  I’m sure we both spend many nights under what’s left of the stars.”

“Yes, but I don’t wander.”  The man shook his head.  “I might go farther than a man from the settlement, but these mountains and forest are my home.  As much as their shanty towns are theirs.”

“Hm,” Sonven nodded.  He allowed himself the luxury of letting his eyes trail curiously over the lean form across the fire.  The man had dark hair and clothing that hung pleasantly on him.  The muscles that would flow easily under the fabric were tense.  “Regardless though of the state of our feet,” Sonven continued.  “Aren’t all men searching for something?”

The man frowned.

“Only the men not contented with what they have.”

Sonven waved that thought away.

“Nonsense,” he said.  “A man can be contented, and still dream of something more.”

“Are you contented then?” Bjorn asked.  Sonven nodded.

“I believe so.”

“And you have something more you search for?”

Sonven frowned thoughtfully.

“Yes, I think so,” he said.  “Though I don’t know exactly what it is.  I suppose I hope to find out as I look.”  Sonven gave Bjorn a moment to contemplate that thought and then continued.  “Surely there is something you too search for?  Something more that you want?”  Bjorn shot him a look, and then gazed back into the woods.

“No,” he replied, stiffly. 

“Really?”  Sonven raised an eyebrow, drawn to the tenseness in the man’s shoulders.  He leaned a little closer, and took an educated guess.  “What about company?”

Bjorn startled and turned back to him.

“What?”

“Company,” Sonven repeated.  “Human companionship.  Surely wandering in the woods gets lonely?”  Bjorn pressed his lips together.

“No,” he said.  “Plenty of people have to do it nowadays.”  He shifted uncomfortably and turned his hard gaze solidly on Sonven.  “You must live a solitary life, too.  Traveling like you do.”  He sounded defensive, but Sonven side stepped a conflict easily.

“I do,” he said.  “I find human companionship does me good.”  He smiled when Bjorn’s gaze softened into uncertainty.  The hunter sighed. 

“I’m sorry,” he said.  “It’s true I don’t have much company.  You must find me a crude conversational partner.”

“You are nothing of the sort,” Sonven scoffed, endeared by the man’s prideful embarrassment.  “Though if you prefer, I have more useful skills than talking to earn my place by your fire.”

The hunter flushed again, much deeper than he had at either time previously.  Sonven drew his own backpack towards himself and began to look through it to hide his smirk.  He had an idea of the source of Bjorn’s awkwardness, and, less amusingly his almost palpable loneliness.

“I—what?” the man stuttered.  Sonven pulled a couple small bottles of oil from his pack. 

“I could not help but notice how rigid you are,” Sonven said.  “As we cover miles a day on foot, we bards have a few tricks for working the knots out of our muscles.”  He gestured to Bjorn’s shoulders.  “I would be happy to show you some of them.  If you would prefer that to conversation.”

Bjorn stared at him and Sonven saw the muscles flex down his neck as he swallowed.  For a moment, Sonven was afraid he would decline, but then he nodded stiffly. 

“Sure,” he said, his voice just barely catching in his throat.  “That might be nice.”

Smiling reassuringly, Sonven stood up with his vials of oils and made his way to the man’s side of the fire.  Bjorn watched him warily, but let Sonven settle himself behind him.

“Please take off your shirt,” Sonven murmured.  Bjorn stiffened immediately.  Keeping his voice clinical and warm Sonven continued, “We’ll move closer to the fire and keep off the chill.”

The man hesitated and Sonven could imagine the thoughts running through his mind.  He was regretting his acceptance of Sonven’s offer, but didn’t know how to gracefully back out of the situation he found himself in.  Sonven let his hands fall gently on Bjorn’s still clothed shoulders.

“Perhaps we will not start there,” he said kindly.  He began to slowly work his fingers over the rigid muscles.  “I forget you northerners are probably not so used to touching.” 

“No,” Bjorn agreed, relaxing more now that the threat of disrobing had been stalled.  “Thank you.”

Sonven smiled, daring to dig his finger tips in a little deep, to the hard muscles, and being rewarded with a low, very soft growl of pleasure.  A curl of heat jumped in his gut. 

“I imagine northerners are even less used to a man touching another?” he asked carefully.  The hunter stilled and Sonven stopped, awaiting the confirmation of his suspicions.  The moment dragged on until Bjorn replied, a barely perceptible note of pain in his voice. 

“Yes.”

Sonven nodded, and resumed the pressure in his fingertips. 

“Good thing I’m a southerner then.”

Bjorn hummed a little in response and they fell into a silence that became increasingly more comfortable.  Sonven let his hands roam the broad shoulders before him, feeling them relax little by little under his touch.  Although the fabric hampered his skill, he still managed to draw forth soft sounds of satisfaction from the man before him.

“Do southerners touch a lot?” Bjorn asked softly.  Sonven leaned to the side to see his half hooded eyes staring into the fire.

“More than I’ve observed those north of the 101 do,” Sonven replied, adopting Bjorn’s low volume.  “I mean no offense, but your people seem somewhat rigid.”

“Rigid?” Bjorn repeated thoughtfully.  “I guess it can seem that way.  Life is harsher up here.  The people have to be, too.  We have more Encounters.  It doesn’t mean we don’t have passions though.  As much as any other man.  We just have to be more careful who we share them with.”  His fists clenched at his side. 

“I believe you,” Sonven said soothingly.  “Do you have someone you share your passions with then?”

A pause dragged on and his silence told Sonven all he needed to know.  Sonven had not encountered many men of this variety in his travels across the new post-End countryside.  He seemed a stubborn sort, and prideful.  At home in this new outdoor world, satisfied with his lot in life, but missing something just as Sonven felt he himself was.

And his lack of companionship and northern upbringing had made him so delightfully shy.

The man drew in a breath as Sonven moved his ministrations below his shoulders.  Sonven let his long fingers trail down to the hem of Bjorn’s shirt.  The hunter’s breath hitched when his fingertips brushed the warm skin of his hip, and Sonven bit his lip.

“Would you care to remove your shirt now?” Sonven asked, leaning forward so he could speak softly into the man’s ear.  “I promise it’s much better with the oils.”

“Alright,” Bjorn said and Sonven’s heart jumped with the quick reply.  He helped lift the grimy garment over the man’s head, revealing beautiful smooth planes of muscle.  Sonven trailed his hand down the man’s back and swallowed.

He quickly reached for a bottle of his oil and tipped a small amount into his hands, rubbing them together.  It had a subtle fragrance Sonven always found particularly relaxing.

He began working Bjorn’s muscles anew, letting himself enjoy the feel of his hot skin.  He massaged the broad shoulders, feeling them relax under his touch, and then down his back, causing Bjorn to arch at the new sensation.  The hunter’s eyes fell closed and Sonven became enthralled by his steady undoing.  Bjorn relaxed completely, boneless and malleable in Sonven’s capable hands.

And the sounds he made.  God, Sonven had to close his eyes against the desire that coursed through him.  He felt himself responding to Bjorn’s soft sighs and groans.  Unable to stop himself, Sonven bowed his head and pressed his lips to the base of the hunter’s neck.  The man reacted instantly.  He went rigid and his eyes flew open, but Sonven did not remove his hands from his back or his lips from his neck.  He inhaled deeply, taking in the smell of the man’s musk and sweat mixed with the aroma of the oil.

“Is this part of your southerner massage?” he asked stiffly.

“It can be,” Sonven murmured, his mind still clouded pleasantly with want.  He moved closer to the man’s back, feeling the heat of him.

“Then I don’t want it.”  Bjorn pulled away.  He didn’t stand up, but he dislodged Sonven’s lips from his skin.  Sonven couldn’t stop the noise of protest in this throat.

Bjorn deliberately looked away from him, and Sonven moved closer again, changing his angle so he could see Bjorn’s profile.  The crotch of his pants bulged unmistakably and Sonven scowled. 

“That’s not what your body is saying,” he said.  Bjorn flushed and pressed his lips together.  He turned his back on the bard again.

“I am not a southerner,” he said tautly.  “I don’t want to do… _such things_ with you only because it is what’s done.”

Sonven tempered his frustration and reined in his desire.  He took a deep breath, sighed, and then chuckled lightly. 

“You misunderstand me, Bjorn the hunter.”  He moved to see the man’s face again.  “Few of my friendly massages turn into anything more.  There is no sort of trivial, or unfeeling southern protocol at work here.”

Bjorn regarded him suspiciously, eyes narrowed. 

“Then what do you want?”

Sonven cocked his head.

“I had thought that was obvious.”  He placed his hand in Bjorn’s knee, moving his thumb in small circles on the inside of his leg.

“You have to know that’s hard for me to believe…” Bjorn said, his voice still wary.  Those forest green eyes trailed down Sonven’s body and Sonven saw the nervous desire in them.

“I do not,” Sonven said with a smile.  He moved closer and ran his hand farther up Bjorn’s thigh.  The hunter inhaled sharply, but didn’t pull away again.  He made a point to gaze greedily at Bjorn’s body, and didn’t bother to hide the way his own body reacted to the sight.

The firelight gleamed over the oil and sweat sheen of his skin.  Flawless muscles flexed and coiled.  The thin trail of black hair that wound its way over a chiseled abdomen and disappeared into the waist band of tight pants made Sonven lick his lips.

“You—” Bjorn swallowed, then started over.  “Why would you—” He cut off again, sighing in frustration.  He pulled away from Sonven again, as though afraid to be so close.  “You really want me?”

Sonven laughed, though not long enough for Bjorn’s face to crumple in shame.  He opened his mouth to say something teasing, something witty, but then stopped himself.  This man was not like the others he’d been with.  He was uncertain, and needed reassurance, which Sonven was too happy to give.

“Yes.”  He leaned forward and cupped Bjorn’s chin in his palm.  “I want you.”  Closing the distance between them, he pressed his lips to the hunter’s.

Sonven kissed the man softly, tentatively.  He tried not to push, not to scare.  The feel of hesitant lips beneath his own though stoked a flame deep inside him that had lain dormant for too long and he pressed forward, letting his hand slide from Bjorn’s rough chin to his neck.

Suddenly, just as Sonven touched his lower lip with the tip of his tongue, Bjorn surged forward.  The hunter’s calloused hand curled around the back of Sonven’s neck and pulled him close, his other hand descending on his hip.  He kissed Sonven deeply, probing his lips until the bard parted them willingly.

Sonven’s mind whirled with the sudden change of pace, and he didn’t struggle as Bjorn pushed him gently but insistently onto his back, his lips still locked to his.  A soft sigh escaped Sonven as he felt fingertips brush his skin and push the hem of his shirt up so they could explore more.  Then Bjorn broke from Sonven’s mouth and lowered kisses to the soft skin just under his chin and over his throat.  Sonven gasped for breath, losing it in a sudden hitch every time the hunter’s hot tongue flicked out to taste him.  Bjorn buried his face in Sonven’s neck as his hands crawled up his side.

“You’re so damn beautiful,” he breathed, almost worshipfully against his skin.  Sonven hummed in pleasure at the compliment.  He opened his mouth to reply but Bjorn’s hand stole down his body again and Sonven’s words were lost in a moan as it slipped inside the waistband of his pants.

He felt Bjorn smile against his neck, and the hand skimmed teasingly across his hips. So close to where Sonven was hard and aching.

“So beautiful.  I’ve never seen a man like you…”  Bjorn whispered between kisses up to his ear.  Sonven bucked greedily up into the man and felt the hard ridge of his erection in his pants.  Bjorn moaned at the sudden contact and Sonven’s own cock twitched at the sound. 

With a soft growl, Bjorn pulled Sonven’s shirt over his head, and then leaned back, openly admiring the view, pupils blown with lust.  Normally, Sonven would bask in such attention, but something about the intensity in Bjorn’s gaze made his stomach knot with a foreign sensation.  Bjorn dragged his calloused fingers up from the waistband of Sonven’s pants, up over his tense abdominal muscles to his chest, which rose and fell shallowly under the teasing sensation.  A rough thumb flicked over a nipple, wrenching a gasp of shocked pleasure from Sonven’s throat.

When Bjorn’s hands reached Sonven’s jaw, he leaned back down and captured his lips, brushing the rough fabric of his clothing against Sonven’s skin.  Sonven pulled at that fabric, trying to get to the hot skin and hard muscles beneath it, but Bjorn batted his hands away in his eagerness to explore Sonven’s long body.

At his third denial, Sonven made a sharp sound of protest, pulling more insistently at the infuriating clothing.  Finally, Bjorn yielded, stripping off his clothing efficiently and making quick work of the remainder of Sonven’s, despite the bard’s pleasure-induced clumsiness.  They both let out throaty moans as overheated skin finally met overheated skin.  Sonven pulled Bjorn flush against him, relishing the feel of the hard body all but crushing him.  Then he trailed his hands over every dip and curve of his back, and his firm buttocks, and around his hips, and then slipped a hand into the dark, warm place between his thighs.

Bjorn gasped and shuddered, and Sonven watched his face as he twirled his fingers around his balls.  He closed his eyes, and breathed raggedly when Sonven took his length against his palm and stroked, running his thumb over the dripping head.  The feel of Bjorn’s strong cock in his hand made Sonven ache with need and he fought the desire to touch himself.  It had been a long time since Sonven had wanted a lover this much.

“I want you inside me, Bjorn,” he said, his voice husky and scraping against his throat.

Bjorn’s eyes flew open.

“I—are you sure?” he asked, uncertainty and a twinge of fear swimming through the lust.

“Yes,” Sonven gasped.  He reached out blindly for one of the bottles of oil.  “Yes, I’m sure, Bjorn, so sure.”  His hand scrabbled in the dirt until it finally fell on the cool glass of an oil container.  “Have you done it before?”

Bjorn swallowed and nodded.

“Yes.  B-but it’s been a long time.” 

“You’ll do fine,” Sonven assured him, and eagerly pressed the small bottle into Bjorn’s hand.  Sonven threw his head back in anticipation as he felt Bjorn spread his legs apart.  He whined when a cool finger, slicked with oil ran over his hole.  He spread himself wider, begging as the cool calloused finger circled his entrance.  Sonven screwed up his face, the teasing heightening his arousal to painful levels.

“Please, Bjorn,” he rasped.  Suddenly, the digit slipped completely inside him and he saw stars.  He gritted his teeth against the pain, until it subsided and he relaxed in pleasure.  Bjorn began moving his finger, in and out, pushing past the tight ring of muscle until without warning he added a second.

He grasped Sonven’s throbbing cock as he worked the two fingers, then began to pump him as he added a third, masking the painful stretching with waves of pleasure.  The hunter didn’t take his eyes off Sonven’s face, drinking in his every expression, his every moan.  He continued to pump him, spreading him and preparing him until Sonven writhed and whimpered on his fingers.

“Now, Bjorn.  Please, God, I can’t take anymore,” he sobbed.  The fingers pulled out, and Sonven licked his lips and opened his eyes to watch.  Bjorn slicked his own length with a few sure, steady strokes, and then knelt over Sonven, his forest green eyes locking onto his own.  He gripped Sonven’s hips tightly, the fingertips deep enough to bruise. 

Bjorn’s tip nudged his hole almost tentatively and he nodded to the hunter.  Then Bjorn plunged into him, hard enough for Sonven to cry out, and bury his face in the man’s shoulder.  Bjorn drove into him, slow and steady and deep, and Sonven gasped and breathed in time with his strokes.

They found a rhythm and Sonven began raising his hips to take more of Bjorn inside him.  Bjorn’s breathing got heavier, and Sonven wrapped his legs around him as he started pounding into him faster and harder.  He changed his angle and grabbed Sonven’s cock, and Sonven yelled when Bjorn slammed into that perfect spot deep inside him with every thrust.

Sonven dug his fingers into the ground around him, his mind tumbling over itself as pleasure coursed through his body.  His whole being wrapped around this man, this strong man that fucked him now so thoroughly.  Blackness began to creep into his vision and suddenly all the lights went out as Sonven came, his hips jerking and his seed spilling across his belly.  With a groan, Bjorn came in him, digging his nails into Sonven’s hips and shuddering with aftershocks. 

He collapsed boneless atop Sonven, winding his strong arms around him and pulling him against his chest, pulling out with a soft sigh.  Sonven obliged willingly, pressing into his warmth, the sound of both their beating hearts loud in his ears, the sticky warmth of Bjorn’s seed dripping out of his ass. 

“It’s been a long time since I’ve felt anything like that,” Bjorn finally murmured, after their blood has stopped pounding in their ears.

“For me as well,” Sonven replied, and surprised himself with the truth of that statement.  He had never been stingy with his body, nor who he shared it with, but yet he couldn’t remember a time when he had felt so needed.  When a man had touched him with such a heady mixture of need, desire, and reverence.  Or when a man had continued to hold him tight to his chest after sex, as though content to merely feel close beside him.

“Is that true?” Bjorn asked, and Sonven could hear the tentativeness in his tone, though with his back against the hunter’s chest he couldn’t see his face.  “That that was…unique for you as well?”  Sonven smiled at his careful word choice.

“Yes,” Sonven assured him.  “It is true.”

They lay in silence for awhile longer, listening to the crackling of the fire, and the insects in the forest around them.  Sonven didn’t even care that his spunk was drying on him, and was sure to be difficult to wash off later.  He did not want Bjorn to stop holding him

“You’re a wanderer, right?” Bjorn asked quietly.  Sonven bit his lip.

“Yes.”

“You want to see new things?”

Sonven frowned, displeased with the turn of this conversation.  He didn’t want to think about his endless journey right now.  He just wanted to think about how good this felt.

“Yes,” he replied in a lower voice.

“Well,” Bjorn said slowly.  “There are lots of things in this forest, and those mountains…I could show you some of them.”

A smile, larger and larger, began to spread over Sonven’s face.  He pressed his cheek to one of the arms that held him.

“I would like that,” Sonven said.  “That’s a lot of ground though.  Could take a long time, couldn’t it?”

A warmth, unlike the heat of desire, but yet more exciting and more filling spread up from Sonven’s belly and into his chest, encroaching on the hole that had been there since the end of Sonven’s youth.  When Bjorn replied, Sonven could hear the smile in his voice as well.  His arms tightened around him.

“Yes, I think it could take a very long time.” 

The End

 

**Author's Note:**

> A/N: So, I have a confession to make. Although it’s the second story I’ve put up it’s actually the first explicit scene I’ve ever written and holy hell was it hard! The most difficult thing I’ve had to write though I like to think I’m getting better at them.
> 
> Anyway, I hope you enjoyed it :) And would love to hear from you all.


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